Who Eats Potatoes For Breakfast?
by Bawgdan
Summary: Looney Lovegood is a concept too sweet for the tongue, but she and Draco share one thing in common. They are both valuable for consumption. (collection of drabbles)
1. blurred lines

"Who eats potatoes for breakfast?" Draco glowered down the bridge of his sharp nose. His eyes reminding her of the wreckage after a storm.

"I do," Luna knotted her bony legs, peeling back the potato skin before taking a defiant bite.

Draco's features sunk beneath his scarf, and his scowl twisted itself into light bewilderment. He shook his head and a wheezing laughed escaped him.

"You're an idiot."

"I like to think it's what they call personality."

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"Why can't you ever walk a straight line?"

Luna's shoulders gently crashed into his for the sixth time. Her feet crossed over one another in lazy waltz with her absent mind. At least, Draco assumed she was absent minded. He only followed her flightiness in empty corridors. In nooks and crannies where no one could find them.

"Because, Malfoy...!" She abruptly grabbed his hand and shook his arm with peculiar enthusiasm, "Because direction makes me uncomfortable. It keeps those pesky fate demons guessing. It keeps you and everyone else guessing..."

"That makes no sense. None what so ever, Looney."

"Well perhaps it's simply not meant for you to understand. Yet. Maybe in your next life."

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Looney Lovegood wore unpredictability like it was a crown. People listened to what she had to say, without swallowing, because she often rambled on about candies trapped in the sky. She fit words together in such a way, that any sane person had to stop and listen. Her nonsense was too sweet to digest, but she had the ability to provoke a feeling in anyone.

Draco was amused. Disgustingly amused, but he kept her secrets inside of his text books, between his fingers.

"I don't understand how people can feel so lonely," She began. Her eyes big and full, large enough for him to fall into. Draco learned to not say anything when she went off on tangents. It was how she sorted out her own stupid thoughts. But what scared him the most, was he found himself giving a damn.

"Incredibly lonely people must not appreciate their solitude. They couldn't be happy with themselves."

Draco groaned and shifted the lean of his posture away from her. And she noticed. Luna never missed anything.

"You must be lonely, Malfoy."

"That's a bold assumption."

"You make assumptions about people all the time," She smiled and it patronized him. Despite the fact that he _knew_ it hadn't come from a malignant place. He knew better, but he gathered himself onto his feet and stormed off in the opposite direction.

Leaving Luna with a waning smile and the first idea of what could be hurt feelings.

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How casually she played off his cold shoulder aggravated him more than the loop of her whimsy contradictions in his head. When he attempted to sleep, he thought of fish swimming in butter beer and chocolate frogs that rode on paper airplanes.

Sure, he was lonely. For a thousand reasons he couldn't let roll off his tongue. For a million whys that clouded his conscience. Being Draco Malfoy wasn't easy, but neither was the facade that was Looney Lovegood.

Luna talked a lot of nothing about praying mantis that tap danced, but he figured it all out. Under the loud clashing of forks and knives against plates. As someone whispered a lie or truth about a stranger in his ear. He finally understood.

Lock and key– it clicked.

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She vanished for a month. Her ghost existing in multiple places at one time.

But he searched desperately. Even stepping foot in the library.

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And when he found her. It was like taking a breath after being under water for too long.

"Why do you look so scared?" She said with a placid face.

This time, he didn't have a cunning rebuttal. There was nothing he could say that could erase the confused disdain that spread across his features. He knew the answer, but her comfort offended him like a hot slap across the face.

 _This isn't how it was suppose to go_ – his head screamed.

But he hadn't really thought of an execution. He solely focused on getting her eyes to look at him long enough. What he didn't know how to do was talk on and on and on about things that didn't make sense. So he curled her into his arms. Her books and wand stabbing him in the chest. He hooked her into a wordless statement. Scooping her up with his fingers in her hair. And she hesitated. For once, Looney Lovegood was the one lost for words. But after several moments, she brought herself in the way the ocean touches the shore. Dropping her books and wand to their feet. Tangling her arms around his torso.

"We fit like an old pair of shoes," She mumbled against his collarbone.

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 _"Who eats potatoes for breakfast?"_

 _"Me. I always have."_

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And the afterlife bent itself to hold them together.

Past. Present. And Future.

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 **A/N: This is a product of intense boredom and a thought that went on for too long. It most likely only makes sense to me, but anyhoo. Thank you for reading my insanity. Leave a review if you like. My first HP fanfic ever. Yay me for deciding not to stand and watch from the sidelines. I changed my mind and decided that this will be a collection of short stories, prose, drabbles etc detailing their relationship.**


	2. self-mortification

Draco's heart was a revolving door to nowhere. His mind– stairs that lead to ceilings.

 _What do you see in her?_ He asked himself as he sunk into his chair. Propping a leg up on his bed as he cut open the envelope. With the same knife he used to slice the pear he'd been nibbling on for the past thirty minutes.

He flipped it open. Immediately recognizing her smell, becoming well acquainted with sound of her voice humming and the wind crisscrossing through tall grass. The knife still wedged between his fingers, he picked a photo from the charmed envelope. It was a picture of her toes, curling in, sprawling out, in the dirt. None of her nails were the same color.

She was strange. An anomaly that attempted to mirror the cosmos. Sometimes succeeding. Sometimes swimming in the lost context of stars. Grimacing, he shoved the picture back in the envelope, folded it shut and her voice with the projected atmosphere deadened.

 _What did he see in her?_ Pastel colors that his mother never wore.

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	3. honeymoon phase

"You never shut up."

Draco often joked cruelly, and rarely it got to her. At first, his teasing was like blindly running into a brick wall. It wasn't the pain that shook her. It was the surprise. Draco was predictable, but she could never quite prepare herself for his criticisms. People always criticized her, but laying under the bully as his eyes scanned her mouth for honey like wit- was taxing. And that's how she came to understand the depth of their _situationship_.

She cared and that was a feeling she never had to cope with. He held a power over her that gave her nauseating butterflies. But that was ok, as long as he wasn't privy to it. As he slid his hand under her blouse, she stopped sucking her bottom lip. Opening her mouth.

"I don't _shut up_ because I love words. I might even like to hear myself talk. Perhaps I'm a little bit vainglorious," Luna loved words because they never ran out. There was always a way, when, and how. Feelings, despite the infinite juxtaposed adjectives, the never ending run of synonyms– _feelings_ ran their course. They end. Finish. Halt. Shatter...breaking her heart and leaving her somewhat morose.

She turned her eyes away from him. Glaring up the stone walls, "Do you wish to change me?"

"No," His hands were warm on her stomach, "You wouldn't be you."

"Good. I don't wish to change you either."

Words were forever. So she held on to them.

"I ramble until I can find at least fifty words to make up my happiness."

And fifty more until the concept of him was swallowed up by her scattered thoughts.

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	4. fairy tales and fallacies

"Don't you get tired?"

" _Whatever_ do you mean, Harry?"

Luna spun around. Glitter shaking from her hair and the sharp ends of her earrings tangling in her pale curls. She prettily mirrored his curiosity– he had yet to learn when she was feigning ignorance. Perhaps, he were simply projecting his own concerns onto her. Maybe she wasn't distressed at all.

"Malfoy..." Harry didn't want to believe that she were that clueless. As a matter of fact, he was pretty damned certain she was smarter than the oldest man in the silkiest of vests attending the party.

And Luna retained her bright eyed daftness. Her glossed slips slightly parting, shaping into a small 'O'.

"Draco Malfoy," She hummed, dragging her eyes across the room. Away from his glare, "He's quite the slug– isn't he?"

Harry's lips wrinkled. His eyes dimming in disappointment. Luna smiled, her gaze locking onto Sanguini.

"Worrying will make you old," She said before fluttering away, leaving Harry with the weight of his own sneaking suspicion– _something was terribly wrong_. And whatever it was, it's darkness wrapped itself around his throat, casting an eternal twilight that mapped the distance between them both.

He meandered, mingled, but didn't let his conscience wade away from what he saw days ago.

And Luna finally looked at him from across the room,taking a sip from her glass. And for the first time ever, Harry caught a fleeting bleakness in her eyes.

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	5. post mortem

She wanted to empty his silence into a mason jar. To seal his anguish tighter than his lips.

Luna was accustomed to his mild conniptions, afflictions, and lengthy withdraws from her arms. She had accepted who he was when she was thirteen. Now that they were much older, his flaws became harder to ignore. As his body twisted into his manhood, his anger grew with him. His dissatisfaction had a bigger appetite.

Her father always said to see through people instead of around them. Don't get caught up in their potential, but she had failed the latter. It was hard not see what Draco _**could be**_. Especially when he had the means to– at least she thought he did.

 _Cowards can always plant courage in their back yards. Desire. Water. And sunlight. That's all they'd need._

But Draco wasn't that simple. He was often dramatic and taciturn when it came to his convictions. Scrutinizing others for not being perfect but cringing when the sun was too bright on his eyes.

Luna didn't storm after him, but she crept her arms around his shoulders, closing her palms on his eyes. He'd lost weight, she could feel the gauntness of his cheekbones. Something had been on his mind and whatever it was, it stole him.

His anger became intense anxiety. His boredom created voices that weren't there.

"Why do you abstain from happiness?" She whispered. Unable to pick at him the way he did her–everyone else. Her voice lightly whistling within the atrium.

And to her disappointment, his answer was the fall of his shoulders. A silence that encouraged him to pry her fingers from his face and spill away from her. As he proceeded to walk away, she managed to conjure enough gumption to grab for his arm. To his shock, horror, he lost his breath between his teeth and jerked away from her.

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 **A/N: I think it's pretty clear at this point that I really have no plan for anything. I mean, there's things that happen but I really just felt the need to collect a bunch of prose. Nothing serious. In my mind, I will think of a scenario for them and write it. And I like to keep them vague so others can fit their own ideas of what's happening. It's also been a long long long time since I've read/watched anything HP, so my memory is fried. I should prob tag this as AU so people don't get confused.**

 **This chapter in particular, I wanted to write about Draco coming to terms with what he is ordered to do in regards to Dumbledore and the Death Eaters.**


	6. disbelief

_"Why do you rob yourself of love in its absolute form?"_

How could a man not believe in god as he stands before a cauldron, boiling fairy wings, frog eyes, and dragon tears? When he has the ability to steal the fire of the stars and trap it in a cape? When he likes the way serpents lick his ear lobes.

Draco attempted fasting. He figured it would be the quickest way to rectify guilt, but apples never fell to far from the tree. And he liked to linger in the shade of his familial leaves more than he wanted to admit. Maybe, he inherited empathy from Narcissa. He very well could be more of her than Lucius.

Whenever he crossed the halls of his home, Narcissa would hear his feet and erupt into tears.

As he spent himself with belly aches, he stared down the hallway, drowning out the sound of her sobs and the ghosts, bodies, that lived in the walls, he thought– maybe just...maybe...that there was no such thing as prophecy. No such thing as fate. That things never just happened for the sake of destiny. Life was a circle of choices. A tug of war of cause and effect.

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	7. 100 Errors

Thirteen. He trapped her in corners.

Fourteen. She allowed him to reach into bare spaces.

Fifteen. She was a well kept secret.

Sixteen. He broke her glasses and her heart.

Seventeen. Out of sight, out of mind. Absence did not make the heart grow fonder and forgiveness wasn't as easy as her father had explained.

Twenty-five...

She discovered that they were soul mates. Messy lovers. Liars. Her engagement ring lost in her coat pocket. As she watched him sleep, Luna decided that she was made for Draco. But they simply could not be together in that way. Not in this life at least. Her heart served its purpose, reserved a vacancy just for him a long time ago.

And for the first time, she experienced intense jealousy as her fingers ran through his thinning hair. Draco was much different. His sharp edges were softer and his glower had faded into blank indifference. She was jealous because when she had him, she couldn't inspire any change in him. She could count the times she had seen him smile on one hand.

Astoria.

What kind of woman was she? What spell did she cast onto him? Luna never asked him directly because she feared a lengthy answer. Luna never asked him because she was guilty of thirty different sins. What right did she have to judge a stranger?

Astoria had to be some kind of good. They shared one thing in common– they both loved him.

 _Luna, you shouldn't be so bitter. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. I'm happy for him._

In the next life, maybe they will get it right.

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	8. vacancies

"At what capacity can I have you?" Pansy whispered against his neck. Her voice twisting with a prior memory of something unspoken but understood. Like a secret tucked behind his ear. She curled her body under him, locking her arms more so around the concept of him. Not fully embracing him, but shit– it wasn't like anyone was counting his sins.

Pride over honesty. Honor over depravity.

"You can't have me," Because he didn't belong anywhere, to anyone. Not even Luna, and for some odd reason the thought made him terribly sad. Probably because he liked to covet things, but hated strings tied around his throat. One hypocrisy after another.

Who even was Draco Malfoy? A liar. The devil... _Quite a charming bastard_...

Beneath the fall of holiday crystals and the fire that blinked through the, creating a shimmer of rainbows and light against the stone wall, Pansy gazed up at him. Not too pretty, but pretty enough to be drawn to her vapid charisma. It was their sixth year, and nothing had changed about her. She was still somewhat dull, but he liked the attention she gave him. Most of all he liked the way his name _fit_ in her mouth.

"You say that now," She muttered, swimming in his eyes for something that could never be there.

"I say that forever," He dipped down to kiss her.

And footsteps carried up the halls. Loud but not loud enough to break them away from each other. It was only when the fleeting rush of their strides did the familiar scent of that cheap perfume she always bought. That cheap perfume that they sold with the lies of crushed stars and swan tears. She knew it was a lie but bought it anyway. Because the sentiment was pretty and she was a sucker for pretty things.

Draco looked up and met the fleeting gaze of Ginny passing over Luna's shoulder, who continued to yammer on about something but nothing. Not once looking back. As if he and Pansy were just shadows stapled to the walls. With a secret tucked behind her ear. With Ginny's attention fluttering back to her nothing but something. Of genuine intrigue that could not be faked. Smiling brightly.

Pansy clung to him like a sad spring rain and he watched Ginny and Luna vanish behind a corner.

Thinking about the last conversation he had with her.

And how maybe it was for the better that he never talked to her again.

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 _"Secrets don't make friends, Draco."_


	9. future

_Being together. Have been together. Togetherness._

Luna liked the concept of 'being together' with someone. It made life and people seem like missing puzzle pieces.

 _Starting with a question and hooking with a desirable answer._ That's specifically what she thought relationships were like. But Luna wasn't normal so things didn't fall into place. Everything she gathered she collected on her own with strenuous hope. Nothing about her had ever been conventional. Even her little quips and romantic mistakes with Draco.

And for a long time, she liked to think he was the bad guy. But as he picked up his trousers and tucked back in his shirt, Luna came to the realization that she had been just as bad. Only a bad person would sleep with another woman's groom.

She knew why she allowed the affair to happen. She was trying to make up for the years they didn't get it right. Trying to smooth that wordless gap. The harder she thought about the past, the sadder her eyes became. Draco was dressed. Draco was getting ready to leave and be with his wife to be. Again, for what could be the hundredth time, Draco was able to walk away from a mess he helped create.

"Do you love him?" Draco started. Standing at the foot of the bed. His hair falling over his eyes in a familiar mishap.

"Rolf?" She stared back at him with a blank expression. _Of course Rolf_ , but she liked filling silences when she became sullen, "In many ways. Yes. I do."

She did. It wasn't a lie. His love wasn't confusing and it never struck her with pain.

Luna resisted the urge to ask Draco– _Well why do you care? Do you love me? Did you ever?_

"I'm happy for you," Draco said with his coat gathered under his arm. Looking at her, but not quite seeing her. Like the fool he had always been.

Luna was in love with Draco, but for some odd reason, he could never find it in him to fill the space she reserved for him.

And for horrible, vain reasons, Luna allowed him to hurt her even though they weren't together. _They never had been together._

She said nothing and he left her with the weight of her visit. Her lips his wedding gift. And she hoped Astoria could taste all of her despair and sweat.

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	10. color red

How to write a suicide letter?

In his own pure blood? With a man made fountain pen or a quill dipped in ink?

His father never taught him how to apologize for breaking things. Casting puppet shadows that squeeze the neck of his mother was his favorite past time. His father never taught him how to speak softly, but that the world was his to take. Every top of a church, every chime of an hourly bell, empty towers filled with the quiet tears of ghost. It was his. Especially if it was hollow. Especially if it lacked a heartbeat.

How would he even start to kill himself?

Because he was scared of the way poison constricted the muscles. The foam bubbling up in his throat. The violent jerks of his _spirit_ trying to escape his body. Draco was scared of slitting his own wrists. He didn't want to burn like a dim candle. He wanted the lights to completely shut off. He wanted to gently roll into the grayness of the afterlife.

Instant gratification. That's what he learned best. Patience was an ugly virtue.

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"I don't expect you to say anything at all," He began. Rubbing at his arm, which had become a bad habit. Despite the fact that the mark stopped itching a long time ago.

Luna kept her legs cross. Fingers laced in her lap but her chin was low. Somehow, she managed not to look upset. Which drove him to bitter assumptions. His mind filled in her blank space her lips created. Checking off every terrible thing she could possibly fix around him. He dropped to his knees in front of her. His hands gripping her elbows.

As desperate as a pirate gasping for air. Under the falling wood of his ship. Staring straight into the storm of her eyes.

"I've made a bunch of mistakes. Most of them can't be fixed..." And during the pause he took, he heard in his head how stupid an apology sounded. _Sorries_ don't bring the dead back. Then there was nothing left to say. Not a damn thing.

"Draco...why are you such coward?" She finally spoke. As her salvation became her demise. His nails desperately dug into her sleeves.

"Why does the truth scare you so?" All these years, she took him for what he was. She settled for empty palms and kisses that only pretended to mean anything. And her voice elevated as she tried to redeem the pain that strangled her heart. There was blood on his hands. There was blood all in the cell. Aching moans of the past and the future never fixing itself. She tore away from him, peeled his fingers from her. The smallness in her voice swelling as her anger dripped from her tongue like hot honey.

"We all are given choices. Now live with yours the way I have lived with mine."

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Draco's insanity was quiet. It didn't manifest in his emotional outbursts– that was his pride. It didn't demand to be seen. It's an internal poison that dripped down his bones. More like ghostly fists that knocked on the door to a vacant house. Nobody there, but something insidious still wanted to occupy the empty white walls. Empty walls without context. There wasn't a recliner for it to ease into. Nor a fireplace to make our pretty pictures when it became too cold.

His insanity wanted to live inside of his naked conscience. Coveting the emptiness in his head.

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How to write a suicide letter?

When atonement is too sad, allow the tears to drench the paper. Decide that you can live with the weight of limbo if you don't make it into heaven– if hell rejects you because there's no place for apathy in the eternal fires.

Decide that those places exist and that there isn't any room for nonbelievers.


	11. wanderlust

They always said it was easy to become lost, but Luna Lovegood found it to be more tedious the older she became. What a curious thing it was though — _to desire being lost_. Her imagination was hungrier than any of Hagrid's beasts, and often it got her into trouble. While those who wandered into forests, caught up in the trees, Luna somehow found a way to become not only lost in the trees, but the dirt as well. The damp mist and the air. The sky, night or day, was an ocean of endless pretty possibilities. And even then, that wasn't enough.

But being lost in someone's eyes was more terrifying than not knowing up or down. She likened in it to walking down a black cave. Without air to breathe and lacking a sense of direction. Luna felt as though she had little freedom when she caught Draco staring at her. When he stood over her.

She didn't like it one bit, but she embraced how it made her feel.

She tiptoed around the halls until Draco caught her wrists, tangling her up into his arms within a nook large enough for the both of them. Where the candlelight barely reached, Draco's lips crashed into hers hurriedly. Her fingers crawling up the crispness of his white shirt and snaking under his collar and then she couldn't feel her legs. Then her head became dizzy and he inhaled all the air she had left until she felt like nothing but a ghost. Lost in a limbo that could not be charted. As she pulled away he drew her back in.

And when Draco decided that he would free her , she refused to look at him with shame on her cheeks.

"You've done this many times before me right?" Her voice came before her senses.

"Not many times. No. Why?"

"Because you're my first."

And wishfully her last.

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	12. conscience doth make cowards of us all

"I love you."

Draco's fingers weren't feathery. He became rough and she was unsure if this proclamation was warranted. Had he said it to make her feel better? Draco had seen her cry many times before. She prayed to herself– _Please don't say things to make me feel better. I feel worse. I feel terrible. This doesn't feel right at all._

Her mind sped off into a bright oblivion as he pinned her down with his hips. Draco kissed her salty lips. Luna sucked back a thunder of tears.

No one had ever been able to destroy her. When she didn't answer, Draco unbuttoned her white shirt and whispered against her tear soaked cheek.

"Do you love me?"

Her head pounded. Luna's soul screamed to flee but affections were the best poison. Common sense, she didn't need it.

 _You're an unconventional, clumsy girl_. This was the kind of affair she had always read about. It was supposed to hurt. Relationships would never be easy. _Clumsy, plain, tacky girl._

"I do." She said out of obligation, and her true feelings come second: _I love to love you. I love when your hurt me because I makes me feel alive._

There was only so many times they could sneak around on the school grounds before being caught. A vain 'I love you' coupled with the danger of being caught in nothing but her socks deepened her desire.

"Are you happy now?" Draco was rough for someone whose kissed many girls before. He peered down at her through the split of his pale bangs. Her gaze was still glazed with sadness but she didn't want to think about how badly he had hurt her feelings.

To think muggles considered love to be magical. There was nothing magical about them that resembled a fairy tale. Her condition, their condition was primitive.

Luna nodded her head and faked a smile.

"These violent delights have violent ends..." And before she could finish humming, Draco drowned her in tidal wave of kisses.

"...like fire and powder.." His lips stifled her. She can taste his breakfast. "Which...as they kiss, consume..."

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	13. faulty

It's a known fact that once you've lost something, you learn to appreciate it in the search for it again. But searching for Luna in other women had left him with a horrid feeling of dejection. Magic itself could not replicate the laughter she had induced in him. Sometimes he laughed so hard, his body could've cracked in half. The squeezing pain at his sides was her way of saying she loved him without actually having to. He realizes this a little too late.

All of her very quiet ways were ways she hid herself from him because truly, what did he have to offer he could not recognize that Luna was, still is, the world he needed?

Selfish.

He scribbles out a sentence in his journal. Draco hastily stands from his chair, tipping over his cup of tea. He shoves his books into his bag and skips from the tea shop like the boy he used to be. And he runs in no right or wrong direction.

It hit him like icy ocean wave. Draco runs so hard his heart should explode. The rain and snow attacks his face, stinging the corner of his eyes and his nostrils burn.

Luna Lovegood is the punctuation mark at the end of his life.

But he's running for no reason other than to wear out the adrenaline. Luna is nowhere near him. He hasn't spoken to her in years.

What a shame it is to realize that you love someone too late.

But the curse of the Malfoys is that they are a breed of leeches.

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